


Mockery of Hope

by nonky



Category: Blindspot (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 08:42:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8972470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonky/pseuds/nonky
Summary: Oscar wished he'd become a mercenary. He could have walked away from money.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the middle of season one, before Oscar and Jane got together.

Jane Doe's skin made his hands sting. He'd forgotten how to live without touching. He wanted to taste the new ink on her neck and crush her to the wall until she cried with recognition. 

Her eyes were wounded and distrustful, as if he'd been the one to abandon her. She was unbearable. 

The differences threw him off but the similarities ripped holes in him. Oscar watched her eat, walk, point and watch him the way his girl would. She didn't smile the same, a tentative little almost curve. She entered a room nervously, like a civilian instead of a soldier. Her hands hid themselves under the opposite elbows, arms crossed all the time. She never wore anything in her ears, and her wardrobe seemed to be all black. 

She made him call her Jane, as if she hadn't just left but died. 

It sliced along his belly feeding her information to bring back to Weller and telling her how to bond with the FBI agent. The man was in love with Jane. There were surveillance photos showing an absurd number of touches, pets, leading hands. Oscar hated that man. The plan was supposed to use him, and destroy his career in all likelihood. A bullet would be faster, and more satisfying. Instead, Oscar had his orders. Jane and Weller needed to live to get to the next phase. 

He wavered between projecting confidence and getting pulled into those same green eyes when Jane asked questions. It was nearly sacrilege to see her needs and deny them. He wanted to tell her how big this was all supposed to be, except her sense of duty had awoken as responsibility. Jane didn't believe shit happened, so she had to take part in deciding where it landed. Jane thought people were good and needed protection. 

She wiped him out, from her past and almost certainly from her future. He didn't know all the steps, but Weller needed to be watched and controlled for years. The cruelty hadn't caused a blip in planning. No one even checked with Oscar to see how he felt about his fiancee setting out to seduce another man. It was rooted in intimacy, Jane's utter need paired with Weller's exquisite guilt. They would fall in love, because sex wasn't motivation enough to do the things the mission would ask, softly voiced from Jane's pretty, mournful mouth. 

He was her handler because emotions had a funny way of hiding away from the drug. His 'persistent positive association' with Jane made him the best matchmaker. 

Oscar wished he'd become a mercenary. He could have walked away from money. He wasn't afraid of pissing people off. But there were too many feelings. Weller didn't need a warm body; he'd needed a miraculous reunion. Jane didn't own anything, and could be bought only with consideration and misled trust. Oscar sought whatever he imagined was left, taking Weller's place loving a ghost. 

The plan was an infernal machine running on their miseries. It ran them down to breaking and ticked over to a new rotation; hope dulling to resignation and finally defeat. 

He could brace for torture, and he could only be killed once. Jane's mix of the familiar and the emptiness of what had been taken gutted him but left him breathing. There were glimmers of something stronger than any plan in her stubbornness, the way she held chopsticks. He had dreams so vivid he often thought their shared memories had gone to ground together in his head, doubling the weight of them on him.

"I don't want to scare you, but I need to kiss you," he told Jane. "I'm supposed to be telling you what comes next. I can't remember why any of this should matter. I can hear your hair brush along your jaw. I taste you in my mouth when I try to eat."

Her mouth parted before she lost what she'd been going to say. Her hands fell to her sides, fingers curling. Rejection rolled down his back like icy water.

"I'm not going to, because you're half in love with him," Oscar said bitterly. "It's all going according to the plan. They'd kill us both for doing anything else, now. I miss you. I miss the disciplined, obsessive woman who traded me for her principles. We could have found another way."

"Oscar, I don't - There's nothing I can count on," she pleaded. Her body shuddered with anxiety he was causing, even as she looked at him gently. "I don't remember myself. I'm sorry."

It was another jarring difference to get sweetness when he deserved shame. His girl hadn't apologized, and would have sneered at both him and Jane for having this scene of weakness. 

"You're right, it's fine. I'll be better next time, Jane. You should get back to the safe house. I'm not myself today."

He winced as he heard himself, and she gave an awkward smile. 

"I understand. I'm sorry you're having a hard time."

The quick, genuine apology was like a knife twisting. His girl hadn't been sorry about anything she'd ever done. Her love for him had had to fit beside and a little behind her mission. He had thought seeing her would give some comfort, but he was just alone with the lack of her.

"Don't be sorry. Goodnight."


End file.
